It didn't take her long to find the horse thief. While there weren't any horses in Riverwood from what she could see, she saw on the way in that there was a rather large shop, right across from Alvor's home.

The moment she opened the door leading outside, she saw a commotion. The door to the shop burst open, and Lokir came flying out, landing on his back with a pained grunt. A man carrying a steel sword marched out, dressed in a more expensive shirt and trousers than the other villagers around him.

"That'll teach you to steal from me!" the man said.

"H-h-hey, slow down!" Lokir stammered, lifting his hands in surrender even though he was still on the ground. "I wasn't stealing, I was…b-browsing!"

The store owner—whose name Rayla guessed was Lucan, judging by the name whispered around as people stopped to watch—sneered at Lokir and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, and I'm the High King of Skyrim. Do you know what we do to thieves here?"

He raised his sword, and Lokir raised his hands over his face in a futile attempt to save himself.

Clang! Before Lucan could swing his sword down on Lokir, Rayla had drawn her own, rusty sword and intercepted the blow. Both men stared at her in confusion, and she took the chance to hook her blade underneath the crossguard of Lucan's sword and disarm him. The sword landed in the dirt a few feet away. Slowly, Lucan raised his own hands in surrender.

But Rayla sheathed her sword and crossed her arms. "There's no need for violence, now is there, sir? Thievery in Whiterun hold is punishable by prison time, not death."

Despite her clear intentions, the shop owner glared at her as if she were a bandit. "No, of course not. Who are you?"

"My name is Rayla of Morthal," she said, and she nodded levelly at him. "And this thief is under my protection."

"Yeah!" Lokir said. At some point, he had scrambled to his feet and stood behind Rayla.

Rayla sighed, elbowed him in the ribs, and turned around to grab him by the ear when he was keeled over.

"And you!" she barked, feeling some of her frustration with him mount. Honestly! They'd been in Riverwood a grand total of twenty minutes and already he was trying to steal things. "You're coming with me."

"Ow!" Lokir exclaimed as she began to drag him away, toward the road that led to Whiterun.

"Shut up unless you want to get killed," Rayla muttered to him. She waved goodbye to Alvor and Sigrid, who had stepped onto their porch to see what the commotion was. "Thank you for your hospitality. I'll see what I can do about getting some guards down here." She sent a pointed look at Lucan.

As she dragged Lokir away, she couldn't help but wonder what she had gotten herself into.

Once they were a safe distance from Riverwood and out of view for good measure, Lokir slapped Rayla's hand away from his ear. She hadn't let go once, even once they left the town.

"Ow!" he yelled at her, rubbing his ear to try and alleviate the sting. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me? What's wrong with you?" Rayla demanded, spinning on him. He could tell by the fire in her green eyes that she was absolutely livid, and his question had just made things worse. "There was somebody willing to give you help—for free—and instead you decided to steal from a shop in broad daylight. How thick are you?"

Lokir felt his lip twitch downward. "In case you didn't notice, we were just at an execution! How do you know that they wouldn't have turned us in to the Empire?"

"Because they didn't turn me in, you piece of toe fungus!" Rayla shouted at him.

Under normal circumstances, Lokir would have laughed at her strange choice of insult, but he was too cowed by her sudden anger. It was probably a good thing—who knew how she would react if he just started chuckling. Instead, he tried to suppress the sudden feeling of idiocy that overtook him. As much as he hated to admit it, Rayla was right. Even though larceny was in his blood (supposedly), he should have just taken the easy option.

Huh. If that wasn't ironic, he didn't know what was.

Rayla sighed and rubbed her face. For the first time, Lokir realized that she was no longer wearing the bandage across her head. Instead, there was a long, pink scar reaching from the bottom of the right side of her chin and up to her left forehead. It was actually rather intimidating. Lokir already thought she was tough (and a bit of a pain, judging from what he had experienced so far), but this scar only increased the effect.

"Look," Rayla eventually said, sounding significantly more calm. "We have to go to Whiterun to help out Alvor—"

…and suddenly Lokir was frustrated again. "We? I wasn't aware that I was bound to you."

And then, with a start, he realized that he never actually learned how this woman knew who he was and where he was raised. There was no possible way she could know that unless she was some sort of stalker, was there?

He sent a sudden flash of fear as he thought of another possibility. Perhaps the blasted traitor had sent her? There was a bounty on his head, so it was possible that she was there to collect. It would explain why she had worked so hard to keep him alive. Bounties were worth more when the wanted person was brought back alive.

Yes, that had to be it. Why else would she risk her life for his so many times? There had to be something in it for her.

He took a step backward as adrenaline flooded his veins once more. She was more weighed down than he was by her borrowed armor, even though he still had the satchel on his back. Perhaps he could outrun her?

However, Rayla must have seen the fearful look in his eyes, because she sighed once more. "I'm not going to hurt you, idiot," she said, rubbing the bottom part of her facial scar.

"How do I know that?" Lokir responded, trying his best to keep his cowardice out of his voice. It didn't work very well. "How do you even know who I am? Why were you caught in the ambush in the first place?"

She made a face. He couldn't tell if it was a conflicted one or just a doubtful one. Possibly both. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Oh, that was the easy way out. No way was he letting her get away with that. Lokir didn't consider himself to be a particularly bold Nord, but when it came to his own safety, he was practically a bear. For all he knew, she could be trying to wiggle her way out of his questions. Any moment now, she could just decide that it was easier to hit him over the head and haul him back to Riften in a burlap sack. "Try me."

She frowned and sat on a fallen tree near the side of the cobblestone road and rested her chin in her hands, staring up at Lokir like he was some kind of fascinating museum piece.

"I had a dream," she said simply.

Well, now he knew she was making things up. He should just run now, while he had the chance. He could just jump into the river nearby, and the current could wash him far enough downstream that he would be able to escape.

But something stopped him. Just a few hours ago, he'd experienced the most strange and terrifying thing in his life. A dragon, something that he thought was just a legend, had attacked and killed almost everyone in Helgen. And then there was that incident with the mage in the dungeons…

Lokir shuddered at the memory, and the satchel around his shoulder suddenly felt heavier. A lot of things had happened that he would have had trouble believing if he hadn't been there himself. Besides, Rayla didn't seem like the kind of person who was prone to flights of fancy. If nothing else, having her explain what she meant could provide him with a valuable distraction if he needed to escape.

"What do you mean?" he asked carefully. "What kind of dream?"

Rayla gave him a suspicious glance, then eventually pondered his question for a moment. Eventually, she spoke.

"I was standing on top of some kind of mountain at night," she said, closing her eyes and clearly trying to remember. "And there was this giant dragon standing right in front of me."

Lokir flinched. He couldn't help it. It had only been a few hours ago that he had watched the terrible black dragon descend on Helgen with wings as black as night and fiery doom following in his wake. Yet Rayla spoke of this dragon in her dream in an almost friendly manner.

"It was big and gray," she continued, "and looked old. And it spoke our language." Then she opened her eyes and looked right at Lokir, which made him feel incredibly unnerved. "It told me to find 'Lokir of Rorikstead, a horse thief who will be captured by the Imperials and taken to Helgen.' The dragon told me that the thief would be integral to helping me 'defeat the first-born,' whatever that means. Then I saw you, in the cart, days before it actually happened."

Lokir swallowed. If true, that was either terrifying or incredible. If the last few hours of his life hadn't just occurred, he would have called Rayla crazy. As it was, he was still tempted to do just that. But it was something that the not-dead mage had said that made him pause.

"Nocturnal. Akatosh. Take my robes."

Strange. But Akatosh was always depicted as a dragon, and Lokir had heard ridiculous stories from priests about premonitions they'd had in dreams. He decided not to eliminate the dream as a possibility—but he wouldn't eliminate the possibility that she was there for his bounty, either. Not yet.

"So what exactly do you need me for?" Lokir asked, still a bit wary. Could this be some sort of trick?

Rayla rubbed her neck in a way that made her look a bit awkward. "I don't know exactly what the dragon in my dream meant, but I know it was true. I was testing it out when I ran right into you and the Imperial ambush. The dream has to mean something." She stood from the log and crossed her arms. "I want you to come with me for a while, just to see what happens."

Well…Lokir hadn't been expecting that to come out of her mouth. Surely there were easier ways to drag him down to Riften?

As he was still dealing with the shock of her statement, she added something else. "And I can pay you, too. Name your price."

She certainly knew how to get a thief's attention. Lokir physically felt his greed kick in. Any price, just for tagging around with a warrior and letting her do all the heavy lifting? He was sure that easier money had never been made.

"Ten thousand septims," he said after a moment. That was more than he ever dreamed of owning, but if she meant it, she would pay up—and if it was a trap, she would just knock him out now.

Rayla's eye twitched fervently for a moment, but she didn't make any move to harm him. "Fine," she said. "Ten thousand septims. Deal?"

"Deal!" Lokir exclaimed. With ten thousand septims, he could easily pay off his bounty, and still have several thousand septims left over!

Rayla stuck out her hand for Lokir to shake, and shake it he did. Her hand was rough and calloused, but it also seemed honest. He hoped his assessment of her would turn out to be correct in the long run.

She made a face as she released his hand, eyeing the side of his head with distaste. "And for the gods' sake, shave the other side of your head!" she said. "Your hair looks like a half-dead squid."

Lokir winced as she turned toward the road. He knew she was right. His face was also so covered in dirt that it was impossible for him not to breathe it in every time he inhaled. And he could also do with a change of clothes…Talos, he was a mess.

But that was something that ten thousand septims could easily fix.

When Lokir emerged from around the rock he had changed behind, Rayla was in for her hundredth shock of the day. The scoundrel actually…didn't look half-bad.

He'd shaved the rest of his head, so that his long hair style had converted to more of a sloppy crew cut. He'd also managed to wash his face completely clear of all the grime and muck that coated it, so she was able to get a clear look at his features for the first time. He had sharp features, for a thief, and high cheekbones. He'd also thrown away his dirty prisoner rags and had thrown on the robes of the mage.

On one level, that was a bit disturbing. But Rayla understood that Lokir didn't have any other clothes, and she also knew that the creepy, dead mage had explicitly told Lokir to take his robes. Besides, the mage robes came with a hood, and now that Lokir was known in Riverwood as a thief, it would be best for him to keep his head down. The blue and beige tunic seemed to be a perfect fit, which she thought was odd until she saw the belt clasped tightly. Another mage mystery: how they actually managed for their robes to be "one-size-fits-all."

"Excellent," Rayla said, flipping up her own hood. "Let's go." She turned around and began to stride toward Whiterun, and felt Lokir run up next to her.

"Urm," he said, flipping up his own tan-colored hood. His face was hardly visible in the shadows of the hood. "What exactly are we going to Whiterun for, again?"

"Well, rest, for one," she responded, imagining the comfort that her bed would bring her after today. "And I also promised Alvor that I would inform Jarl Balgruuf of the dragon attack and get Riverwood some more guards." She could tell that he was a bit confused by what she had said, so she elaborated. "I…have a house in Whiterun."

"Have you ever met the Jarl?" Lokir asked. She thought she could sense the nervousness in his voice, which made sense to her. Thieves were bound to be cautious around authority figures.

"Once or twice," Rayla responded. She squinted at the height of the sun in the sky. "Come on. We want to get to Whiterun before the sun sets."

"Uh, why?" the thief asked her.

"Because," she said, exasperated. "That's when the bandits, wolves, and saber cats come out." Honestly, had this man ever traveled anywhere before?

"Oh," he eventually said, his voice an octave higher than usual. "How…fun."

Rayla didn't even justify that with a response.

The good thing was that they were only about an hour's walk from Whiterun. The bad news was that the sun was already beginning to set, and she knew that the guards were more hesitant to let people into the city after dark. With the threat of Stormcloaks around, the guards were taking security a bit more seriously. Even so, she and Lokir made good time on the roads. It helped that Rayla didn't have any of her normal possessions to weigh her down during a journey, which meant that she could move faster.

But she did feel more jumpy than usual. Every time the wind rustled a bush on the side of the road, she'd flinch ever so slightly, and she knew that Lokir was doing the same. The events of the day had taken their toll on both former prisoners, so much so that every breeze began to resemble the roar of the terrible black dragon.

Rayla was definitely relieved when they reached the gates of Whiterun. While the sun had just faded from behind the horizon, she could see several guards holding torches on the walls. She knew most of the guards in the city, so they should let her in no problem. It was the thief dressed as a mage at her side that she was worried about. Whiterun guards were just as distrustful of mages as any other hold guard.

When they stepped past the fortified, crumbling stone walls, she could finally let herself relax. Whiterun had been her home for years, and it was one of the few places in Skyrim where she could finally let her guard down—though never completely.

"This is…safe," Lokir muttered as they stepped onto the creaky drawbridge.

"It's fine," Rayla told him, though she stayed away from the edges of the bridge. "It's held entire crowds of people." At least, she assumed.

"Halt!" one of the guards in yellow armor barked, once Rayla and Lokir were close enough. "The city is closed with the dragons about." Behind his steel helm, Rayla imagined that the guard was eying Lokir suspiciously. "Official business only."

Oh, Rayla was just too tired for this. With a sigh, she lowered her borrowed hood and looked the guard in the eyes. "I'm the Thane. Let me and my companion in at once."

The guard instantly straightened. "I…my apologies, Thane, I didn't realize it was you. You and your friend can go right in."

Rayla nodded at the guard to spare herself the energy needed to make a response. As the guard rushed to open the large gates for them, Lokir leaned over to her and whispered, "Nice ruse."

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Who said it was a ruse?"

Lokir looked at her blankly for a moment, then must have realized that she was serious. His jaw dropped, and he gaped at her. She couldn't resist a smirk as the guards succeeded in opening the gates.

"Here you are, my Thane," the guard from before said. "I'm sorry for the delay."

"Don't worry about it," Rayla told him as she walked past.

Once they had successfully passed the guards, and the gate had been shut behind them, Lokir rushed up to her side and hissed, "You're the Thane?"

"Did I not mention that?" Rayla said, making a contemplative face. She felt a flicker of amusement as she watched Lokir's gape turn into a glare. Perhaps traveling with a thief would be worthwhile after all.

She heard Lokir mutter a series of curses as she patted down her pockets, before she realized that the key to her house had been the pocket of the clothes she'd been wearing when the Imperials had captured her. Then it was her turn to mutter a curse.

"Come on," she told Lokir. "It's this house."

"This one?" he asked her. "It looks a little…small."

Breezehome was, indeed, smaller than the other houses in Whiterun. But that was how Rayla preferred it. Besides, she had made a few modifications to accommodate all of her storage needs. And it had been the only house available when she had decided to move to the hold. And she liked the cozy feel that the house had. There were a few flowers planted by the door, and she was careful not to step on them as she walked up.

She rapped her knuckles on the wooden door three times. A few moments later, she heard the call, "The Thane is away!"

Rayla chuckled and called back, "Lydia, it's me! I've misplaced my key, can you let me in?"

She looked back at Lokir with another laugh when she heard the sounds of shuffling inside. A second later, the door swung open to reveal a tall woman with dark hair in steel armor standing inside.

"My Thane?" Lydia asked, looking confused. Her expression quickly changed to one of concern as she saw the scar on Rayla's face. "What…happened to you? And who's this?"

"It's a long story," Rayla responded, "which I will tell you in a moment. Could you let us inside? It's getting cold out here."

Lydia stepped inside, and Rayla gratefully stepped inside, sighing in relief when she smelled the familiar scents of her home. She heard Lokir step in after her, but she was too focused on unbuckling the sheath at her hip and tossing it aside.

She turned around to find Lokir looking around curiously at the interior of her house. The room they were standing in was a combination of the kitchen and the dining room, and—at least, in Rayla's opinion—it smelled wonderful.

"Make yourself at home," she said. "I'm going to change before I go see the Jarl."

"The Jarl?" Lydia asked. "At this time of night? Rayla, what's going on?"

"Like I said," Rayla explained. "It's a long story. Besides, the Jarl has a bad habit of staying up late. I'm sure he'll still be in the court when I arrive." She nodded at her thief friend, who was in the middle of munching on a sweet roll. "This is Lokir, by the way. If you have questions, I'm sure he can fill you in."

Lokir looked up with a full mouth, looking confused under his hood. "Whumph?"

"Wonderful," Lydia deadpanned.

"You'll have fun," Rayla assured her. "Now if you excuse me, I have a date with some clean clothes."

She was so tired that she could hardly climb the steps up to her bedroom. But she was determined to rid herself of the shoddy armor and ragged clothes she was wearing underneath. The second floor of her house was mostly full of decorations. One wall had three weapon plaques on them, though she'd only managed to fill one of them (with a sword from one of the Alik'r). She mostly ignored her surroundings as she opened the door to her bedroom.

To say her room was lavish was a lie, but neither was it spartan. She cared more about practicality than anything else, so her bed was large and comfy, but not outlandishly expensive. The dresser to the side of the room only had one or two changes of clothes in them, and the chest at the foot of her bed only carried the essentials.

Rayla made sure her door was shut and locked before she stripped down, kicked her smelly clothes for good measure, and crossed the room to her dresser. As quickly as her tired mind and body could, she redressed in a simple white tunic and brown trousers, both made out of sensible cotton. Her own clothes were significantly more comfortable than whatever it was that the Imperials forced their prisoners to wear. She sighed in relief. Before she went back downstairs, she made sure to grab the Elven dagger that she kept under one of her pillows and strapped it to her waist. While she was unlikely to be in danger in the middle of Whiterun, it never hurt to be prepared. Especially after the day she'd just had.

Rayla paused to examine the scar on her face in the small mirror that she kept on the wall. She'd never been one to care much about her appearance, but this…this was different. The scar on her face was unmistakable, and not easy to hide. It was long, thick, and pink, and reached across most of her face. As she stared at the scar in the mirror, she realized how lucky she was that the dragon's claw hadn't broken her nose, and even more lucky that she hadn't been killed by a stupid mistake.

She snapped out of her reverie soon enough. As she heard Lokir's voice drifting up through the floorboards of her room, she remembered her dilemma involving the thief-for-hire. Quietly, so as to not alert the man as to where she kept her money, she opened the chest at the foot of her bed—moved several books aside—and, as fast and accurately as she could, counted out five thousands septims and put them in a brown sack large enough to hold the sum. Shaking her head, she opened the door and began to descend the stairs once more.

"So…there was a dragon," Rayla heard Lydia say, doubt dripping from her words. "And you're sure you haven't had anything to drink? No skooma, either?"

"He's telling the truth, Lydia," Rayla said as she reached the first floor and strode to the kitchen. Lokir was seated in front of a steaming bowl of tomato soup at a smaller table, and Lydia was leaning on the wall facing him. Rayla could see that the cooking pot in the center of the room was full of more of the soup. One of Lydia's many talents was that she could cook a mean dinner.

Lydia shook her head in disbelief. "I heard the guards talking about it in the market earlier today, but I thought that they had just been drunk." She crossed her arms and sent Rayla a glare. "You should have let me come with you."

Rayla rolled her eyes and grabbed an apple from off one of the kitchen's shelves as she moved toward the door. "We've been over this, Lydia. I had to go alone, so the Imperials could capture me."

Lydia huffed. "And look what happened to you."

Rayla winced. One of the reasons she liked Lydia was because she was so blunt, but bluntness wasn't exactly what she wanted to hear right now. As she walked to the door, she suddenly remembered Lokir.

"Here," she said, tossing the bag of coins to him. The thief caught it clumsily. "Half now, half when…whatever we have to do is done."

"That's fair," Lokir said evenly, though she could still hear the disappointment in his voice.

Talos, Rayla thought as she opened the door to Whiterun. What have I gotten myself into this time?